Surely all her doubts were only in her mind, Connie thought as she and Stephen strolled beside Rotten Row, along which a few brave riders trotted their horses despite the cold, overcast afternoon, the Serpentine to their right bereft of Sunday boaters. Yet even though they were together Stephen remained distant. Her arm threaded though his, Connie remembered last summer when, without need of a coat she’d thrilled to the touch of his free hand covering her bare arm. Today her winter coat made his touch feel distant, as he himself seemed – or was it just her overwrought imagination? If she continued feeling like this she could lose him for ever. She needed to tackle him about the worries she’d had all through last week about his odd behaviour. After all they were together now but he still seemed distant, his mind elsewhere. ‘Darling, is everything all right?’ ‘What d’you mean?’ ‘I mean between us.’ He didn’t look at her, his attention apparently taken by a couple of riders cantering by, their horses’ hoofbeats dull on the soft ground.
